


Take Care

by fiadhfajita



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, Tooth Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27664931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiadhfajita/pseuds/fiadhfajita
Summary: "Derek, he's not dying, he hasn't been attacked by some unknown supernatural creature, he's just sick and you're going to have to take care of him." Stiles is sick and Derek has to look after him.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Kudos: 152





	Take Care

**Author's Note:**

> [RE-POST! I accidentally deleted my previous account (ghostlywhitedirewolf) so am now reuploading all my old fics]

\-------------------------

The groan is the first thing he heard as he climbed through the window, followed by a low, "go 'way, Derek."

"Stiles?" Derek murmurs, looking at the shivering mass, huddled under an obscene amount of blankets.

"Derek, close the window," is the only reply he receives.

"Are you okay? You missed the pack meeting; Scott said that your Dad called his Mom to tell her that you were sick."

Derek sniffed the air cautiously, the smell of sweat the most prominent, followed shortly by the smell of misery that radiated from the teenager. He wrinkled his nose, moving to stand beside the bed.

"Yeah, she said I have tonsillitis. It's contagious, so I couldn't come to the meeting in case I gave it to Allison or Lydia." Stiles' voice was raspy, his breathing laboured and uneven due to the incessant shivering.

Derek sighed, kneeling next to the bed so that he was at eye level with Stiles before pressing the back of his hand gently against the younger boy’s sweating forehead, “you look like crap.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that when my Dad cringed as he came in,” Stiles sighed, leaning his head into Derek’s touch.

“You’re really hot.” Derek told him, running his hand through Stiles’ hair like his own mother had used to when he was upset.

“I’m irresistibly hot,” Stiles murmured weakly, sighing at the loss of Derek’s touch.

The werewolf smiled slightly at the joke, “sure you are, but there’s no way I’m kissing you right now. You look sick enough that even I might not be immune.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Where is your Dad?” Derek asked, cocking his head to the side slightly as he listened for the Sheriff’s seemingly absent heartbeat.

“Work, there was some emergency.” Stiles told him, clutching the duvet closer around himself, still shivering despite the abnormal heat radiating from his body.

“Okay, give me two minutes.”

Pulling out his phone, Derek cautiously moved towards the bedroom door, avoiding the piles of paper thrown precariously around the room.

“Derek, how is Stiles?” Scott asks as he answers his phone.

“Really sick. What am I supposed to do with him? He’s running a fever and his lungs sound like sandpaper. The glands in his neck are swollen too.” Derek paced up and down the hallway outside Stiles’ bedroom for a moment before pausing outside the bedroom door to peer in at the boy, the need to crawl into bed beside him and hold him overwhelming him for a moment before he pushed it down, telling himself that that wasn’t what Stiles needed right now.

“My Mom said that you need to try and get him to drink as much as you can. He won’t want to because of this throat, but he has to if he has a fever.” Scott says, unnecessarily repeating the information Derek can hear Melissa telling him in the background.

“Do I need to take him to a hospital?” Derek snaps, suddenly concerned that it could be more serious than he originally assumed.

"Derek, he's not dying, he hasn't been attacked by some unknown supernatural creature, he's just sick and you're going to have to take care of him." Scott laughed down the phoned and Derek doesn’t think he’s ever hated him more than in that moment.

“I don’t know these things! I’ve never gotten sick before!” Derek shook his head.

“Just keep him warm and make him drink! It’s not that difficult!”

“Fine,” Derek ground out, “bye Scott.”

He didn’t wait for Scott to reply before hanging up, pushing the phone back into his pocket before heading downstairs and into the kitchen. There was a box of aspirin and a glass of water already on the table, the Sheriff’s doing, Derek thought. Grabbing both of them, Derek made his way back up the stairs, listening to the rapid beating of Stiles’ heart.

“Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“You should just go home; you don’t have to take care of me you know,” came the quiet reply.

“I want to Stiles. I don’t care if you’re sick. Hell, you’ve spent enough time looking after me and patching me up,” Derek said softly, placing the water and aspirin on the bedside table and moving some of the blankets aside so that he can sit on the side of the bed.

Stiles sighed, “Everything hurts, Derek.”

“I know, I need you to sit up for me for a minute though. You need to drink this or you’re going to end up dehydrated and even sicker,” Derek said, pulling the mountain of sheets away from the shivering boy.

Stiles whimpered slightly, reaching up to pull the duvets out of Derek’s hand, “stop it, I’m so cold!”

Derek rolled his eyes slightly, pushing one hand under Stiles’ back and pulling him gently into a sitting position so that Stiles was leaning against the back of the headboard before placing the blankets back over him.

“Drink,” Derek told him, holding up the glass of water.

Stiles visibly cringed before extending a shaky hand to grip the glass, lifting it to his lips and taking a few small sips before glancing back towards Derek in a ‘happy now?’ gesture.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Derek took the glass, placing it back on the bedside table.

“You really are the worst boyfriend ever.” Stiles joked, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

Derek snorted slightly, “That’s not what you’re supposed to say to the person taking care of you.”

Stiles shrugged, “I don’t care, I feel like death.”

“You look like death,” Derek admitted, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his jacket, “scoot over.”

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked as Derek slid into the bed next to him, pulling him gently back down the bed so that he was leaning against Derek.

“Shut up Stiles,” Derek muttered as he wound his arms around the younger boy, one hand creeping under Stiles’ shirt to rub gentle, soothing circles into his back in an attempt to relax the shivering, the other holding Stiles flush against him.

Stiles pressed his face into chest, tucking his head under Derek’s chin as his hands fisted into the werewolf’s shirt. Derek pushed his fingers against Stiles’ back, feeling the familiar pull of his healing abilities pulling the pain away from Stiles, watching as black leached into his veins, travelling up his forearm before disappearing. Stiles moaned gently against his chest, Derek feeling rather than hearing the small sound of relief.

“Thank you.” Stiles sighed, the shivering lessening slightly and letting Stiles relax against him for a moment before a coughing spell racked through him, his bony frame convulsing as he pressed his face further against Derek’s chest, hands clutching his shirt a little tighter before relaxing again as his body stilled.

“Sorry,” he muttered weakly, his voice rough.

“S’ok, get some sleep,” Derek said gently, pressing his lips to Stiles’ forehead as he flattened his palm against the small of Stiles’ back, pulling away as much of the younger boy’s pain as he could.

He felt Stiles relax more as the shivering subsided and the aching in his muscles finally eased and it wasn’t long before he heard his breathing even out as the teenager fell asleep.

Derek rubbed his cheek against the top of Stiles’ head affectionately, finally satisfied that Stiles wasn’t in any pain at the minute before he laid his head against the pillows that smelt so strongly of Stiles, of home.

He exhaled gently, closing his eyes, content to let the steady thrumming of Stiles’ heartbeat lull him to sleep.


End file.
